


To The Victor

by neaf



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neaf/pseuds/neaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of the Glee Live 2011 tour, Darren and Chris play out a game that gets far more complicated than either of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Challenge Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> Written after the very first show of Glee Live 2011.

Chris was bouncing - actually honest-to-god jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store, eyes bright and grin broad as he bumped his shoulder into Darren repeatedly. Darren let a nervous smile flicker across his mouth in response, but Chris barely noticed – his eyes were set on the path to the stage steps.  
  
It wasn’t until Darren let out a soft, shaky breath that Chris glanced his way. “Nervous?”  
  
Darren shrugged and rocked on his heels a little, face scrunching dismissively. “Nah.”  
  
“Liar,” Chris poked him in the ribs, but Darren swatted the hand away playfully.  
  
Watching him for a moment, Chris noticed the tremble in his hands, and the way his eyes flicked around a little too quickly.  
  
“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” Chris asked softly, his head tilting.  
  
Darren smiled, and huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “I have… _no idea_ why. I just sang up there, I can read some lines. It’s just like the musicals, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”  
  
“It’s different, though,” Chris smiled knowingly. “Singing is what you know, it’s your comfort zone. Second nature. This kind of audience is … well, it’s new. So I get it.”  
  
Darren blinked at him for a moment, his lips curling into a fond smile that reached all the way to his eyes.  
  
“Don’t think about the amount of people,” Chris advised, coyly. “Focus on me.”  
  
“You say that like I don’t do it anyway,” Darren nudged him with a hip.  
  
Chris grinned. “Just don’t start laughing like a crazy person. Heather’s deadpan has caught me out more than once.”  
  
Darren snickered. “Yeah, not really worried about that,” he shrugged. “I got through Joe Moses motor-boating invisible tits without cracking, I should be able to get through this.”  
  
Chris eyed him with a sneaky smile.  
  
Darren caught it, and narrowed his eyes questioningly. “What?”  
  
“Oh- _ho_ , it’s so on,” Chris warned, grinning. “I am going to make you crack.”  
  
Darren shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, you can try,” he said, invitingly. “But good luck.”  
  
Chris’s expression was nothing short of downright devious, and Darren stared him down, amusement shining in his eyes.  
  
“Oh, wait,” Darren held up a finger. “Rules.”  
  
Chris rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you want to add rules.”  
  
“No touching,” Darren pressed his hand to Chris’s chest. “I know it worked in rehearsal, but if this is a challenge you need to keep your hands to yourself or it’s just not fair.”  
  
Chris’s face descended from an innocent _who me?_ expression into a smirk as the audience cheered violently and Heather’s voice trickled through the speakers.  
  
“That’s it, we’re up,” Darren said, glancing over his shoulder and gathering his microphone. “Deal?” he asked, turning back to Chris.  
  
“Fine,” Chris agreed. “No touching.”  
  
Darren gave him a sharp nod and turned, waiting for his cue.  
  
“I remember when you used to be fun,” Chris said, smacking Darren on the ass as he moved towards the stage.  
  
Darren spun once, pointing a warning finger at his friend before he turned back to where he was going. He tried, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  
  
“Blaine Warbler," Heather's voice called. "Will you please come onstage?”  
  
As he wandered out into the lights, the belting roar of the crowd sunk in again, and he managed to subdue his giddy grin to a casual smile as he waved absently to the crowd. “Hey Britney,” he said, wandering carefully across the stage just like they’d rehearsed.  
  
After a handful of heys, Darren watched her innocent expression as she eyed him. “Do you wanna make out?” she said softly.  
  
“Do I – wanna make out?” he looked over his shoulder, and then back, selling the awkwardness as much as possible. The deafening static from the crowd sped his heart again, and the smile crept up for a moment before he managed to get it under control.  
  
“Uh, Brit,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry – but I’m actually taken.”  
  
The audience flattened the room with a wave of sound, and Darren glanced over to the stairs in time to see Chris’s pointed and irritated expression.  
  
 _Oh sweet jesus,_ Darren thought to himself, glancing back around fast as he could. _Don’t look at Chris. Don’t look at Chris._  
  
He caught Heather’s eyes, and managed to get out another set of lines, barely hearing his own voice over the ongoing cacophony around them. The apology was heartfelt, and utterly Blaine.  
  
Out of nowhere, Chris managed to completely puncture the screaming crowd. “BRITTANY!”  
  
Darren couldn’t help but look back. Chris tilted his head, his face completely deadpan while he swished his head around comically. “Are you flirtin’ with my man?”  
  
In a split second Darren’s brain short-circuited, and the cries of the audience did little to calm the pounding in his ears as he tried so very, very hard not to laugh. His hand offered his microphone up absently, like it was trying to help him out – a little gesture of _here, try this?_  
  
His face cracked into a wide grin before he could stop himself, and he lowered the mic again, a sharp laugh punching silently out of him as he rocked a little out of his control.  
  
Heather shrugged. “Oops,” she said, turning and slinking offstage.  
  
From the top of the stairs, Chris paused and watched him, trying fairly hard not to break into a smile himself.  
  
With a quick, deep breath, Darren turned and drew on every ounce of strength he had. “Hi Kurt,” he managed casually.  
  
“Hi Blaine!” Chris chirped excitedly, skipping in giant bounds across the stage, arms swinging wildly.  
  
 _Oh, you son of a bitch,_ Darren cursed silently, every muscle in his body screaming at him as he tensed against the laughter bubbling up. He glanced out imploringly to the audience for a split second, anything to keep his eyes off Chris.  
  
Arms still waving as he turned a circle and bounced around, Chris caught Darren’s expression just enough times to register that his plan wasn’t quite working yet.  
  
Darren inwardly congratulated himself, playing up to the act with a swivel of his head.  
  
“So, Blaine!” Chris began.  
  
“You’re so excited,” Darren commented dryly.  
  
“Since we’re in Las Vegas,” he went on, arm outstretched and waving uncontrollably.  
  
“Mm-kay,” Darren said, keeping his voice low.  
  
“I. Have. A proposal for you!” Chris stared at him intently.  
  
“Okay."  
  
Chris sunk dramatically down to the stage floor, and Darren felt himself rock back, hand on his chest. _Christopher fucking Colfer you did **not** just get on one knee._  
  
Darren’s other hand helplessly supplied the microphone to his mouth, over and over, but his brain couldn’t actually offer any words.  
  
“Blaine Warbler. Will … you …” Chris managed slowly, and then sunk even lower onto the floor, rolling and kicking a leg up dramatically. “Join Glee club!”  
  
Darren’s eyes shot wide for a moment as Chris propped himself up on an arm, laying out on the floor like it was somebody’s bed and wearing a knowing smirk.  
  
It took everything Darren had, right down to the tips of his curling, shaking toes to reign in and fall back into character seamlessly. “Oh, my god, Kurt, I thought you’d never ask!” he said, exasperated, playing it up as much as possible and keeping his gaze on the crowd. “I’ve always wanted to do something that the Warblers never let me do, just a big, _big_ Broadway number,” he glanced down at Chris, at last. “You know?”  
  
Chris was breathless on the ground, and cursed his friend’s resolve quietly to himself, lifting his microphone. “Yeah, no, no,” he began, enjoying the laughter around him. “No, no, those are mine.”  
  
Darren watched Chris as he cast his eyes back out to the crowd, tilting his head in consideration. “Though when they’re not mine,” he tipped his head the other way. “They’re Rachel’s.”  
  
“I’ll take it from here, boys!” Lea’s voice boomed across the audience, and the lights went dark as Darren shuffled quickly offstage behind Chris.  
  
They made it down to the bottom of the steps as Don’t Rain on My Parade filled the air with deafening sound, and Darren gripped at Chris’s shoulders with both hands excitedly. “You are fucking _insane_ , you know that?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Chris replied breathlessly, smiling. “Well done. I am… thoroughly impressed.”  
  
Darren grinned from ear to ear. “You almost had me,” he admitted.  
  
“Uhuh,” Chris raised an eyebrow, and watched as Darren wandered down the hall for costume change, his mouth curling at the corner.  
  
“Just give me time.”


	2. Gameplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris's reaction to Darren's surprise kiss on the last night of the tour.

They clattered down the steps with a pounding, rattling beat and dived one after the other behind the understage curtains as the screams from above drowned out their footsteps. Breathless, giddy and shaking, Chris slowed to a stop and tried to gain his bearings, staring around wide-eyed before his gaze landed on Darren. That grin - that stupid, giant, puppy-dog grin was plastered across his face.  
  
Chris shoved him, hard.   
  
“What was that!?” he shouted, his mouth still split wide into an unmovable smile.  
  
Darren laughed breathily, shaking slightly with adrenaline, and held his hands up in defense. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time?” he offered, failing at any attempted innocence.  
  
“Screw you, you planned that!” Chris cried, his hand over his mouth as he continued to reel in disbelief. The ache burning in his hips was becoming unbearable, and he was suddenly aware of just how tight his pants actually were.  
  
Darren shrugged, and gave him a dirty grin. “Maybe.”  
  
“You son of a-“ Chris didn’t realise he’d reached out and wound Darren’s tie around his fist but he could hear his heart pounding in his ears as their mouths crashed together again, forceful and pushing and needy.   
  
Darren’s hands scrambled at his hips, fingers pressing into the tight fabric of his jeans and clinging to the curves of him as they moved down his body.  
  
Breathless and stuttering for air, Darren broke away. “I - we - there’s-“  
  
“It felt like the right thing to do at the time,” Chris growled in response, dropping his mouth to Darren’s throat as he pushed forward and pressed him against the wall bodily.  
  
Tiny, broken noises escaped Darren’s mouth as Chris worked his way down and found Darren’s tie with his teeth, pulling it away violently.  
  
“Chris, fuck,” Darren moaned, their hips grinding together slowly as Chris writhed against him.  
  
“This,” Chris, dropped the tie into his hand. “Is mine.”  
  
Darren smirked at him, his eyes dark. “I thought trophies went to the victor.”  
  
Chris pressed a thigh between Darrens legs and sucked down hard on his pulse, grazing lightly with tongue and teeth as Darren let out a long, keening sound and ground down into his leg.  
  
Chris smiled against wet skin. “Game’s not over yet.”  
  
Darren whipmered and Chris found his mouth again, sucking the noise off his tongue in slow, messy strokes, hands still gripping the tie and sliding into Darren’s hair.   
  
He broke away abruptly as the music above them changed, stepping back and sliding seamlessly into perfect composure. Casually, he adjusted the tie and slipped it over his head.  
  
“To be continued,” he said lightly, brushing his thumb over his lower lip with a smirk and letting his gaze wander down the length of Darren’s body.  
  
Darren’s shoulders slumped against his will, and he felt himself slide bonelessly down the wall to the floor as Chris slipped away past the curtains.   
  
If Chris was determined to win, Darren decided, he was perfectly fine with letting him.


	3. Game Over

In the hazy aftermath of their second tour everything looked slightly out of focus, everything moved just a little too slowly. The plane back to London was a fancy little thing, just big enough for the cast, but the seats were broad and deep and the sunlight pouring in the windows left a warm glow on the cabin.   
  
Everybody was exhausted - numb from weeks of nonstop travel, burned out from the spotlights and sweat-damp nights in hotel rooms that never really smelled like home.  
  
Darren watched across the aisle as Dianna and Lea had fallen unconscious the second they curled up into a two-person ball of blonde and brown hair masked by deep red plane blankets. Cory was sprawled over the center seats, face framed by a hoodie and split with dark glasses. He looked like he was asleep, but with Cory stillness was never a tell.  
  
Several seats in front he could hear snoring, but had no idea who it was. A peaceful rumble played percussion underneath it, coming from someone else, and Darren held back a chuckle as he listen to the symphony of nasal sounds.  
  
He let his blanket fall from his shoulders to lift both hands and rub at his weary eyes. A rush of cold swept over him, and he shivered, realising just a moment too late that something was pulling the blanket off him before a heavy, very warm weight dropped onto his lap.  
  
He sniffed sharply, blinking with sleepy eyes up at Chris. Long, pale arms moved around them both, tucking away the armrest for more space and coiling the blanket up tight around them.  
  
“Mr-mmmm,” Darren protested weakly. “What are you- Chris?”  
  
Chris smiled at him as he stilled, a gentle smile that reached his eyes. If Darren were completely awake he might have recognized the slight hint of mischief in them.  
  
“You looked cold,” Chris offered casually, his voice low.  
  
Darren swallowed thickly, his brain slowly sputtering to full consciousness now that his body had begun to realise what was going on. “Air-conditioning,” was all he said in reply, silently hoping the rush of blood heading south would stop.  
  
“Ah,” Chris’s eyes flashed. He moved very carefully, deliberately, to make sure the blanket was covering them both as he slipped his hands back underneath it.  
  
Just as the warmth of Chris’s body had begun to sink in, just as the comfort of the way they were wound together let Darren drift back down towards that blurry, sleepy place, he felt a sharp thrill of warning go up his spine. Chris’s fingers pressed lightly across his stomach, grazing skin, and he jolted when he realised Chris had undone his pants.  
  
Wide-eyed, he stared at the man in his lap, mouth falling open slightly as Chris’s fingers didn’t slow down, just kept stroking firmly at softer skin. Chris was watching him, almost smirking, eyes lit up like a challenge.   
  
_I dare you to move._  
  
Darren gasped sharply as Chris’s fingers sunk lower. His brain whirred in dizzy semi-consciousness, trying to process exactly what was happening. _What was happening?_ He was already half-hard before, but now Chris was sliding a hand over his cock and letting his fingers coil tight slowly, so slowly, and Darren couldn’t stop the gunshot fire intakes of air through his mouth.  
  
With a panicked glance to the others in the cabin, he looked back at Chris questioningly.   
  
The evil smile he received in reply almost knocked the air out of him again as Chris shifted to press his mouth to Darren’s ear. “Then stay quiet.”  
  
Darren shuddered at the hot gust of air on his neck, the tone in Chris’s voice making his skin prickle as the fingers curled around his cock squeezed gently, and began to move.  
  
Chris was slow, and teasing. While the blanket above them stayed deceptively still, Chris was stroking long fingers up and down firmly, mapping the veins of him and learning the places to press or stroke or squeeze to make Darren’s body stutter and his eyes blow wide.  
  
It was all so slow, so desperately hot and slow and Darren tried to get more air, more of anything into his lungs, fighting with oxygen that swam around his head like soup. His body thrummed with a burning, painful ache as his hips begged to thrust up into Chris’s fist. He bit down on his own lip against the whimpers rising in his throat.  
  
Chris was still watching him with those dark, mischievous eyes, studying his expression for every change, every flutter of those eyelashes as Darren came apart. He curled his fist a little tighter, stroked a little harder and watched the man beneath him fight down sound.  
  
Darren was beautiful like this. Lost, and aching, and completely unaware of his own skin or breath. Unguarded and sweat-damp and _beautiful._  
  
Changing his pace, Chris shifted on Darren’s lap, glancing carefully at the others to make sure they were still unconscious before he focused again on the body shaking under him. He twisted his thumb, dragging it across the head of Darren’s cock roughly on every upstroke, and Darren’s shoulders dropped back violently into the seat as his hips bucked.  
  
“Ch-chr,” he tried, but a hand clamped over his mouth quickly, and he met Chris’s eyes in surprise.  
  
Chris pulled the spare hand away and pressed a finger to his own gently smiling lips to signal silence.  
  
Squirming, Darren drew a shaky breath and tried to calm the heartbeat pounding in his ears. He couldn’t control his body, not the tremble in his legs or his mouth, still hanging open. His eyes fluttered closed as Chris’s hand kept moving under the blanket. Darren was close, heat prickling at the base of his spine like a warning, and he scrambled desperately for whatever he could think of to keep the sound from coming out of him the moment he came.  
  
Feeling the urgency, Chris shifted quickly and spread his legs across Darren’s lap to straddle him, bringing them face to face. Darren’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown as Chris pumped him firmly, flicking his wrist and pressing his thumb along the underside of Darren’s cock in perfect strokes.  
  
In a rush, Darren’s body jerked up, arms wrapping hard around Chris’s back and clinging desperately. He felt a strong arm curve around his head for support, and he buried his mouth against Chris’s sleeve, biting into a bicep to stop from moaning as he came hard over Chris’s fist.  
  
Chris rode out the staggered jolts of the body beneath him, cradling Darren’s head and stroking him smoothly through his orgasm. He smiled to himself when the tremors died down, fingers softly twisting through the curls at the back of Darren’s neck.  
  
After a long moment spent simply clinging to each other, Chris shifted and let Darren fall back against the plane seat.   
  
Chris glanced quickly at their castmates, and felt a surge of satisfaction at the sight of all the sleeping figures around the room. He let his eyes trail back to Darren, who was still breathing through his mouth, gaze slightly unfocused but fixed on Chris. Gently, he tucked Darren into his pants and drew them back together, wiping his hand on Darren’s jeans and smiling innocently down at him.   
  
Darren watched him carefully, eyes shining with amusement and a strange kind of wonder. Like he’d just been told an answer to a question he could never understand.  
  
With his mouth set in a determined line, Chris balanced on his knees and reached a long arm up to the overhead shelf. After a moment of stretching, the blanket fell to the ground and Chris grunted softly, dragging down Darren’s carry-on and dumping it in between them. Darren winced at the extra weight, and tried not to laugh aloud as Chris folded his arms and rested on the luggage adorably.  
  
When he finally understood why Chris had found his bag, Darren narrowed his eyes. Somehow, Chris knew he had a change of clothes.  
  
Chris blinked innocently, smiling at him still, as if he already knew Darren’s exact train of thought.  
  
Before he could help it, Darren’s eyes dropped to the perfect, smiling line of Chris’s mouth.  
  
He didn’t notice Chris’s eyebrow shoot up, or the flare of his eyes. Slowly, Chris leaned over the bag and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips.   
  
It was over too fast, and Darren’s body followed the warmth of the kiss on instinct, leaning in for more just as Chris pulled away. He didn’t get far, Chris’s hand found his shoulder and pushed him back into the seat, and he whimpered softly at the denial. Chris stared at him for a moment.   
  
Darren’s head spun in confusion. _Chris just - did - and then - Wait, what?_  
  
Chris smirked.  
  
Realisation hit him like a gunshot, and Darren gasped quietly, his entire face pulling into a shocked scowl. This was about the tour. _The skits. Dublin. This was about being beaten at your own goddamn game._  
  
Chris’s brow shot up again, this time in triumph, and he leaned in slowly. His gaze danced along the line of Darren’s mouth for a long, lingering moment. Darren felt his body surge forward, but miss as Chris changed course half way and pressed a hot mouth to Darren’s ear.  
  
“ _I win_.”  
  
In a rush, the weight was gone from his lap save for his carry-on luggage, and Darren was left staring, mouth hanging open as Chris sauntered down the aisle in the opposite direction.  
  
Darren’s brow dropped, and raised again as he tried to process it all. _What the fuck just happened?_  
  
“Dude,” a deep voice came from across the aisle, and he glanced over to see Cory’s glasses tip down the bridge of his nose.  
  
“You are _so_ screwed.”


End file.
